Category: GleeGenre: RomanceRating: TLanguage: EnglishSummary: Post-Duets. Puck and Santana decide to team up to fix their problems with their ladies.

A/N: Yeah, whatever, this will be rendered non-canon after "Never Been Kissed." It probably already has by "Rocky Horror Glee Show." Frankly, I had this written already and thought I might as well post it.

It's Enough for Now

Santana lay crying in a pink-sheeted bed, Brittany's arms wrapped around her, her body spooning her friend from behind.

Four days earlier, Santana was bawling as Mercedes comforts her. At the front of the room, Sam and Quinn celebrated winning a free dinner at Breakstix.

What the hell? Let's get back to the bedroom for a second.

Santana was no longer crying. She simply laid silently, her eyes red and puffy, staring into space. Brittany caressed her sides.

So, actually, this isn't where the story starts. Let's back up a little.

In the same bedroom, a week previous, Santana was lying on top of Brittany, kissing her neck. She sat up, remarking, "Listen, I'm not making out with you because I'm in love with you and want to sing about making lady-babies."

Brittany just lay there, sad but not surprised, a little miffed that Santana had gone off about a simple song suggestion.

Okay, that's not actually where I wanted to start, but it's relevant, I guess. Look, I know that was harsh, but I'm not exactly the nicest of people. Usually, to Brittany, I'm better. Hell, to Brittany, I'm awesome, like, all the time. But, I'm not a lesbian, okay? If Puck weren't in juvie, I'm sure I'd be... well, I'd still be here. Puck and I hook up on occasion. Granted, not in, well, months. He's kind of hung up on my friend Quinn right now. Loose use of the word "friend" by the way. Is there a word for the bitch-whore whose faithful lieutenant you are until the right moment arises to topple them, knowing full well they'd do the same?

Anyway, let's jump ahead. This part really frickin' depresses me.

Brittany rolled Artie down the hall in a wheelchair. Santana watched from a distance, confused by this development. Brittany stopped dead, turned around, looked Santana straight in the eyes, gestured toward her breasts and gave Santana an unambiguous "None for you" gesture. Santana's face dropped.

So, this isn't much better. Look, I'm probably deserved that. Let's jump to the next part.

"So, Brittany's only had sex with you for your voice..." Santana callously informed Artie.

Holy hell, who's in charge of these frickin' flashbacks? I'm gonna need some Prozac after this angstfest.

Puck walked down the hall, where he was joined by a sneering Santana.

"You're back," Santana remarked, more of a comment than an invitation for conversation.

Puck saw right through the gesture, "Yep. Juvie sucks."

"I heard you crashed your mom's Volvo into a convenience store and made off with an ATM."

"Is that how they're presenting the facts? I'll down with that. Spread the word."

"Whatever," Santana replied with zero interest.

"What's got your panties in a bunch?"

"Britt and I are fighting."

"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't dump your lesbo drama on me."

"It's not lesbo drama. It's just that she... and I... never mind, but it's still not lesbo drama."

"Uh-huh," Puck sarcastically agreed, "so in the mood for some revenge nookie?"

"I damn well should be, but I'm too pissed to even get it up. Plus, I know what this is about. You heard about Quinn and the Backstreet Boy. You're still here, so you obviously haven't been suspended for rearranging his face."

"My mom threated to take away my X-Box if I got in trouble within twenty-four hours of being released from the big house. I'll have you know I talked calmly with Frosted Flake."